


Where the Skies Are Blue

by greywind (lokistarked)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Slow Burn, Will be updating the rating as I go, sweet sweet angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokistarked/pseuds/greywind
Summary: AU. After the latest incident in a string of bad behavior, Oliver's parents hire him a bodyguard.





	Where the Skies Are Blue

Oliver rolled over in bed, sheets tangling around his legs, and groaned.  

His head was throbbing, blood pounding loudly in his ears, and his mouth was dry; a sour taste lingering on his tongue.

He cracked open an eye and could see a thin beam of sunlight filtering in through the thick curtains that had been pulled over the windows. He’d have to thank Raisa for that later.

Last night had been…well if Oliver was being honest with himself he couldn’t even remember.  Obviously, he was accustomed to nights of heavy drinking but it was only on rare occasions that he got so wasted he couldn’t conjure any memories of what had happened.

And those were always the  _bad_  nights.  

Oliver really didn’t want to face whatever it was he had done, but he’d learned by now that on a bad night he always did something unforgivable - last time it was the paparazzo he had assaulted.

Whether it be through his parents or Tommy or someone else, he’d eventually find out he was in some sort of trouble so excuse him for wanting to avoid it.

Oliver sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe if he laid there long enough he’d just dissolve into the bed and he wouldn’t have to worry about ‘responsibilities’ or ‘being an adult’.

After a minute or two there was a grinding buzz from his bedside table, his phone indicating he had received a text. Oliver huffed and reached over for the device.  The message was from Tommy.

_u awake? need to talk ASAP. avoid the news if u kno what’s good 4 u._

Oliver groaned again.  Yeah, he’d really fucked up this time.

After a quick shower, he made his way down to the kitchen using the back staircase, hoping to avoid his family.  If whatever he had done had ended up in the news then clearly he should expect an incoming lecture from his parents.   _Hopefully_  it hadn’t been anything illegal.

The kitchen was empty but on the counter a covered plate had been left with eggs, bacon, toast and orange slices. _God Bless Raisa._

Oliver poured himself a cup of coffee while he inhaled the food and made to exit the kitchen.

“And where are you going, Oliver?”  

_Dad. Fuck._

Oliver turned to face Robert Queen, the mogul, the entrepreneur, the father to the biggest fucking idiot on this planet.

“Uhh…”

“Sitting room. _Now_. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”

As Oliver followed his father down the hall he wondered if pretending to faint would get him out of this.  

 _Probably not_.

When they made it to the sitting room Robert gave Oliver a pointed look, indicating to his son to sit down.  Oliver took a place on the couch opposite his mother, who was looking out the window quite calmly.  

 _Yeah, this was really bad_.

His father stood behind his mother and both his parents remained silent until Moira faced Oliver, eyes cast down as if she were gathering her thoughts.  Finally, she spoke.

“This routine is growing old, Oliver.”  Moira’s eyes snapped up to him sharply.  Oliver swallowed.

“We’ve indulged you long enough, and quite frankly I’ve grown sick of the disappointment.”

Oliver stomach churned as he looked into his mother’s eyes and saw that she looked tired.  Tired and sad.  The last thing he wanted was to hurt his mother.

“Mom, I’m-”  Oliver began, but Moira quickly cut him off.

“I’m not  _done_ , Oliver,” she said sternly.  “You will listen to what I have to say.

Your father and I have given you everything we possibly could but all we’ve gotten in return is flagrant disrespect.  You are twenty-five years old and I think it’s past time you’ve learned how to act like it.”

Moira just stared at him and Oliver squirmed under the scrutiny.

“As long as you plan to live in this house and use your  _father’s_  money you’re going to make an effort to better yourself, do you understand?”

Oliver just nodded shakily.

“We’ve hired you a body guard and that’s how you’ll introduce him to others.  But if I’m being perfectly honest he’s going to be your baby sitter.  He’s been instructed that you’ll be home by midnight each night and you’re allowed nowhere near clubs, parties, alcohol, or the like.

Since you’ve been so determined to act like a child, we’ve decided to treat you like one.”

A million arguments popped into Oliver’s head, but he knew better then to talk back at the moment, it would just end up making his punishment worse.  When his mother nodded at him he knew he was allowed to leave so he quickly returned to his room.

He couldn’t believe his parents were sticking him with a bodyguard.  He’d known plenty of guys who ran in his circles that had bodyguards, but they were all douchebags and now he had to have one?  

As if people didn’t already hate him enough.

 _He really needed to find out what he’d done_.

 

* * *

 

Oliver swallowed down the bile that quickly rose in his throat as he watched the video on the screen repeat. The local news was in fact discussing his escapades from the night before and he had to admit this was worse than the paparazzo.

 _Much worse_.

The video they were sharing on the screen was shaky and grainy; clearly taken on someone’s cell phone, but that didn’t make it any less incriminating. The scene played out before him for what must’ve been the tenth time – the news station was definitely milking the footage for all that it was worth – outside the club he had been in last night Oliver could be seen arguing with a large, intimidating man dressed in all black (one of the clubs’ bouncers).

“Listen man!” his drunk alter ego was yelling through the speakers of the television “I don’t give a _fuck_ what that asshole says he was asking for it”

‘ _Oliver Queen Assaults Local Nightclub Owner’_ was displayed in white text at the bottom of the screen as the feed switched over to the news anchor.

“And if you’re just joining us that was footage of Oliver Queen, son of local billionaire and CEO of Queen Consolidated: Robert Queen, outside of the recently opened nightclub  _Climax_  owned by Max Fuller. Mr. Queen has been accused of assaulting Mr. Fuller and a warrant has been issued for his arrest.”

Another wave of nausea rose in Oliver’s stomach and he bolted for the open door of the bathroom adjoining his room. He made it to the toilet just in time and released the contents of his stomach into the bowl.

When he was done retching, he reached out to flush the toilet before sitting down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and taking a few steadying breaths.

This was _very_ bad.

Of course, he has had legal trouble in the past and he knew that between his parents’ money and their team of over-qualified lawyers he probably wouldn’t suffer any lasting consequences, but deep-down he knew he had not only failed himself but also the people around him.

Laurel wasn’t going to be happy. Over the years she was finding his drunken antics increasingly less charming and the last time he had been in legal trouble she told him that if didn’t grow up she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to put up with it.

_And even if Laurel forgave him would his parents?_

After he had dropped out of his third college, he was pretty sure his parents had all but given up on him and as much as he told himself he didn’t care, he really, _really_ did care.

He just didn’t know how to be the person everyone expected him to be.

Oliver barely registered the creaking sound of his bedroom door opening.

“Ollie?” Thea’s voice floated through the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Yeah, in here,” he groaned.

A few seconds later Thea appeared in the door-frame.

“You need to come downstairs, Laurel’s dad is here…I guess they’re taking you to the police station,” Thea mumbled, arms crossed and eyes cast down at the floor.

_Great, now he had disappointed his baby sister._

Oliver pulled himself up from the floor and moved over to the sink to quickly rinse out his mouth and wash his hands, before following his sister downstairs.

In the foyer he spotted Detective Lance and a woman he didn’t recognize talking to his mother; when Moira saw him coming down the stairs she cut off the conversation she was having and spoke to him directly.

“Oliver, Detective Lance was kind enough to come here and take you in to the police station for questioning rather than sending officers to arrest you. _Thank him_ ,” she said quite pointedly, eyes wide and imploring.

“Uh, thanks, Mr. Lance” Oliver said, woodenly, as he joined them.

“My pleasure,” Quentin Lance, replied, the words conveying anything but pleasure.

“This is my partner, Dinah Drake,” he continued, gesturing to the woman beside him.

“Lovely to meet you,” Oliver said, praying he didn’t sound sarcastic.

“And you,” she smirked, “Shall we?”

Following them out the door Oliver wondered what he did to deserve this, and then snorted.

_He knew exactly what he did._

 

* * *

 

After arriving at the police station, Oliver had been brought to a small room with a table and a few chairs.  Detective Lance and Detective Drake had asked him to explain the events from the night before to which he gave a thorough account of absolutely nothing because he couldn’t remember a damn thing. 

They weren’t happy with that answer.

From there they explained that Max Fuller wanted to press charges of assault against Oliver. According to Max, Oliver had approached him without provocation and punched him in the face. Oliver may not remember the events from the previous night but he knew for a fact that Max was lying. He told the detectives about his history with Max’s ex-fiancé and that chances were that Max had confronted Oliver and things had likely escalated from there.

And if the bruises Oliver had discovered on his rib cage that morning were any indication the ‘assault’ was definitely not one-sided. Detectives Lance and Drake took photos of the bruising and told Oliver to sit-tight while they followed-up with Max (as Lance had explained it, if they pressed Max for more detail and he admitted to attacking Oliver as well he would be more likely to drop the charges).

Throughout the entire interview Oliver had felt uncomfortable under the harsh gaze of Detective Lance. Oliver knew for a fact the older man hated him, but because he was dating the man’s daughter he was being granted some leniency. There had been multiple occasions over the years where Quentin Lance had given Oliver the third degree but that usually resulted in Laurel getting angry with her father.

Oliver was sure the detective was being so helpful today thanks to Laurel and _only_ Laurel.

Oliver sighed and leaned back in his chair, his stomach felt much better and the tightness in his chest was beginning to loosen as his anxiety from earlier slipped away.

_Maybe this wouldn’t end up being so bad after all?_

The door to the room opened slowly with a loud groan and Oliver was greeted with the sight of Laruel’s disappointed face.

Oliver swallowed against his suddenly very-dry throat.

Laurel didn’t say anything and didn’t look at him as she moved to sit down in the chair across from Oliver. After a beat, she looked up from the table and met his weary gaze.

“It’s over, Ollie” she said, voice betraying no emotion.

“What,” Oliver chuckled nervously, “You’re kidding right? _C’mon Laurel_ , this wasn’t even that bad your dad told me that he’s probably gonna get the charges dropped so it doesn’t matter.”

“ _Doesn’t matter_?” she said, voice raising, anger flashing in her eyes, “Oliver, do you even care how your actions effect the people around you? When you do things like this you’re not just damaging your own reputation you’re damaging your families’…. _you’re damaging mine_!”

Oliver felt the tightness return to his chest. He crossed his arms and briefly closed his eyes before returning Laurel’s gaze.

“What does that mean, Laurel?”

“That means that I can’t date someone who is going to continuously cause a scene and go on drunken rampages and get arrested! I’m a lawyer now, and I’m trying my best to defend the people of this city against people in power who mean to take advantage of them. I need to maintain an image of being trustworthy and how can I do that when my boyfriend is consistently in the news cycle for acting like an asshole and never paying the consequences for it?”

There were tears welling up in Laurel’s eyes and Oliver wondered if it was sheer determination that prevented them from falling. That wouldn’t surprise him coming from Laurel.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you would change, and I believed you because I could tell that you did want to change, Oliver.  But wanting it isn’t enough, you have to actually _try_ and I’m not sure that you ever will.”

Laurel waited, clearly inviting a response, giving Oliver the chance to defend himself, to fight for their relationship.

He looked back at her but said nothing…because she was right. He wasn’t going to change and she deserved better than him. He’d known that for a long time.

After about a minute she took a shaky breath and a lone tear finally fell down her cheek.

“Goodbye, Oliver.”

As the door slammed behind her, Oliver felt his heart stutter in his chest. He was pretty sure he’d lost any chance of bettering himself the moment Laurel walked away.

 

* * *

 

Oliver waited maybe an hour tops before Detective Drake returned, letting him know that Max Fuller wouldn’t be pressing charges.

The detective offered to drive Oliver home but he refused.

The fresh air outside of the precinct offered a reprieve to his worried thoughts as he focused on the cold breeze brushing gently across his face.  After a moment he felt the chill and shivered, pulling his wool coat more tightly around his body.

It was nearly Christmas and as Oliver looked around him he could tell the people milling about the streets – on their way to the next thing whether it be work, or a lunch date, or to shop for last minute gifts – were filled with a buzzing energy that only ever seemed to come alive during the holidays.

Oliver was struck with a sudden pang of jealousy as he wondered how it was everyone was able to be so cheerful. Even when he was at his most content he still never truly felt happy.

The sudden clarity of that thought made Oliver realize that maybe being dumped by Laurel wasn’t the worst thing in the world. If he couldn’t call himself happy, even when he was with her, then they didn't belong together.

A small smirk tugged at Oliver’s lips as an idea crossed his mind.

His parents would probably kill him.

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

Oliver Queen was drunk. 

_The fun kind of drunk._

The girl sitting at the bar next to him was gorgeous; tall and tan, long dark hair spilling in a gentle wave down her back.  She was telling him a story about a co-worker and if Oliver was being honest with himself he was not listening at all but he was entranced by her. The way she moved her hands and the enthusiasm in her voice was breathtaking, how could he focus on anything else?

Also, being drunk probably wasn’t helping matters.

The girl started to laugh and so Oliver laughed along with her. In the background the song shifted from something slow and melodic to something more fast-paced, the beat loud and infectious.

“Oh my god I love this song, we _have_ to dance,” the girl said. Oliver wished he could remember her name.

She hopped off of her stool and grabbed Oliver’s hand, “C’mon!”

Oliver resisted, groaning. “I don’t dance,” he huffed.

“Boooo!” she exclaimed, giggling and continuing to pull at his hand.

“If you dance with me,” she continued, slyly, “We can go back to my place after?”

Oliver grinned. _He was sold_.

“Let’s do this,” he yelled, laughing and pulling her to the dance floor, eyeing a dark corner.

His movements were halted by a man stepping in front of him.

“S’cuse me _, dick_ ,” Oliver slurred, stepping around the man. His movements were once again halted when the man grabbed him firmly by the arm.

“Mr. Queen, you’re gonna need to come with me,” the man said, voice even but firm.

Oliver turned to get a look at the man who was still holding his arm. He was tall, about the same height as Oliver, clean-shaven with buzzed hair and dark skin.

“Listen, buddy,” Oliver snarled, “ _Fuck off_.”

Oliver started to pull away but the man wouldn’t let go.

“ _Ollie_ ,” the dark-haired girl whispered, “Ummm…maybe we should go?”

“No way I’m letting some tool ruin my night,” Oliver smirked, looking over at the man and twisting his arm of out of his grip. “ _Get lost, dude_.”

The other man’s expression remained vacant and he didn’t try to grab Oliver again, but he did reply.

“Mr. Queen, my name is John Diggle: head of security for Queen Consolidated. Your mother has instructed me to bring you home immediately. She also instructed me to tell you that if you don’t listen to me then you won’t have a trust fund anymore”

The man – John Diggle – smirked and crossed his arms.

“So, Oliver, what’s your next move?”

Oliver groaned audibly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

“ _Fine_ ,” he finally answered, shooting John Diggle a dirty look, “Let’s go. Sorry, Hannah,” Oliver said to the girl, “Gotta go!”

He moved to follow John Diggle out of the club but he did hear ‘Hannah’ shout from behind him:

“My name is Kelley, _asshole_!”

Oliver just chuckled to himself without looking back.

 

* * *

 

“So… _what_ , this dude’s my bodyguard?” Oliver asked, disinterest clear in his voice as he flipped through the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_ , sprawled out on the couch of the sitting room.

“No, Oliver,” Moira replied, she was sitting in an armchair across from Oliver, observing her son with a clear look of disappointment etched across her face, “Mr. Diggle works for Queen Consolidated and was kind enough to bring you home tonight.

Your bodyguard has been hired and his first day is tomorrow. I didn’t believe that would be an issue until you decided to disappear after leaving the police station.”

Oliver spared a glance to his mother but quickly looked away, back to his magazine, to avoid the intensity of her stare.

“Detective Lance called to let me know the charges were dropped,” Moira continued, voice trailing off. She waited a moment before continuing, “He also told me about Laurel.”

“I’m going to bed,” Oliver announced, throwing the magazine on the coffee table and standing up from the couch, swaying slightly.

“Oliver if you need to talk I’m here…”

“Night!” Oliver interrupted loudly, quickly exiting the room.

The last thing he heard was his mother’s exasperated sigh.

 

* * *

 

John Diggle entered the restaurant -  _Big Belly Burger -_ and did a quick scan of the room.

Carly was behind the counter, looking down and scribbling something down on a notepad.  Through the window to the kitchen he could see his brother Andy moving around, most likely working on an order.

He smiled to himself for a moment and looked around the rest of the room. There weren’t very many patrons as it was nearing 11 p.m. but in one of the booths he could see his friend, tray empty in front of him as he stared out the window into the dark city street.

Diggle approached and once he was closer, he spoke.

“Slade, you _son of a bitch_ ,” he grinned, catching the other man’s attention.

Slade Wilson looked over to his friend and smirked as he stood, greeting the other man with a handshake.

“How long has it been?” Diggle asked.

“Not long enough,” Slade laughed, sitting back down as John took the seat across from him.

“Complain all you want, but I do believe I was the one who got you a job.”

“Thank you, I can’t wait to babysit a _spoiled rich brat_.”

“Hey man, I think you know better than I do that in our line of work there aren’t a lot of opportunities for an honest living,”

A wry smile spread across Slade’s face and he nodded.

“So, tell me more about this, kid…you had to go pick him up tonight?”

Diggle laughed, “Yeah, the guy was three sheets to the wind and his parents are trying to get him on the straight and narrow. So, you’re not just hired muscle - it’ll be your job to make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble. Not sure if you saw the news cycle recently but that’s just the latest in a long line of highly publicized bad behavior.”

“I did see the news, the kid seems like a prick,” Slade replied.

Diggle chuckled to himself, “I think that’s a fair assessment, but you won’t need to worry…I’m sure once he meets you he’ll be too scared to try and break any rules. He’ll try to push your buttons in the beginning I’m sure, but at the end of the day he’ll be too concerned about keeping access to mommy and daddy’s millions to really give you any trouble.

And once there’s an opening in security at Q.C. you’ll be the first person I recommend.”

“Thanks, John,” Slade nodded.

“How’s Joe?” Diggle asked, trying to keep his voice neutral for the sake of his friend.

Slade let out a breath and leaned back, looking out the window again.

“He’s good, I talked to him yesterday. He keeps asking me when I’m coming home and I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth. It seems his mother isn’t sharing any details either; hasn’t even told him yet about the divorce.”

“Sorry to hear that, man,” Diggle replied.

The two friends lapsed into silence. Carly came over and handed John his regular order, he smiled and thanked her. He ate his meal as his friend of nearly ten years continued to stare into the darkness outside, mouth turned down in a frown. The other man had been struggling with his family for years, trying to hold it together for the sake of his son but unable to make it work in the end.

Diggle was hoping that he could help Slade find a place in Starling, his friend deserved to be happy.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Oliver refused to get out of bed.

_What was the point?_

He didn’t want to meet his stupid new bodyguard and he didn’t want to see the smug look on his parents’ faces when they realized how much the whole situation pissed Oliver off.

After a few hours had passed, hours that Oliver spent scrolling though the various apps on his phone, he noted that it was well past noon.

And no one had bothered him.

Oliver sighed. Clearly his little protest was having no effect.

Throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, Oliver made his way out of his room. Downstairs there were people bustling about - a man carrying a large arrangement of poinsettias, a women wheeling a cart of silver dishware, and many others cleaning - and Oliver was at a loss as to what was going on. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen, the date shone back at him in crisp white letters overlaying a picture of Laurel and him smiling: December 24th…Christmas Eve.

A.K.A. The day of the annual Queen family Christmas party.

_His least favorite day of the year._

Sneaking his way past all the workers and avoiding eye-contact, Oliver entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee pot. The _empty_ coffee pot.

Oliver grumbled under his breath as he prepared the pot for a fresh brew. Once he had added fresh coffee grounds and water and set the machine to start, he took a step back to wait.

He started to notice a dull throbbing in his temple and turned to get a glass of water, caught completely off guard by the man who was leaning against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching him as he took a hearty sip from the white mug he held gripped in his hand.

Oliver paused – not sure what to make of the man before him – his hair was dark and his skin was a few shades darker than Oliver’s own. A full, but neatly kept, beard adorned the man’s face and just barely hid the smirk that was resting there.

_He was hot._

Oliver cleared his throat, “Is that coffee?” he asked.

“It is,” the man responded, voice deep and tinted with an accent.

“So, you took the last of the coffee and didn’t make more? _Classy_ ,” Oliver huffed.

“Making coffee isn’t in my job description, _kid_ ,” the man, who was evidently Australian by the sound of it, replied.

Oliver felt blood rush to his cheeks and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he gritted his teeth.

_Who was this asshole?_

“Oh yeah, and what is? Standing around like a jackass and watching people while drinking _their_ coffee?” Oliver asked, glaring openly at the man.

The coffee pot sputtered loudly as the machine worked behind him. The object of Oliver’s ire just stood there, seemingly unaffected by the younger man’s temper.

“Well, you got one part right, I am meant to watch people. _You_ , specifically,” the man answered, smirk still there, “I’m Slade Wilson, your new bodyguard.”

The man – Slade – took another sip of coffee as he continued to stare at Oliver.

Oliver closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to bang his own head against the counter. _Repeatedly._

“Well that’s just…. _great_ ,” Oliver replied sarcastically, opening his eyes and turning back to the coffee pot, deciding that ignoring Slade Wilson was in his best interest at the moment.

He could’ve sworn he heard a faint chuckle behind him.

“ _Something funny?”_ he demanded, palms flat on the counter as he watched the coffee drip slowly into the pot.

“Well,” Slade began, voice contemplative, “I knew I’d be working for a rich brat, but I didn’t expect you to be so temperamental.”

Oliver spun around, mouth open and retort on the tip of his tongue, when out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister enter the room. He paused.

If there was one person in the world that he didn’t want to lose his cool in front of it was Thea.

“Morning, Ollie,” Thea greeted him, walking over and giving him a quick hug.

“ _Ohh, coffee_ ,” she said, reaching for the pot right as it beeped, indicating it was done. She poured herself a mug and turned to look at her brother. She gave him a slightly puzzled look, likely picking up on the fact that he was agitated.

“What’s up with you?” she asked, looking over to Slade and giving the man a small smile. “Oh, have you met, Mr. Wilson?  He is _hilarious_ , so much cooler than all the other bodyguards.”

Oliver gave his sister a fake smile, “I’m sure he’s just _the best_ , but I gotta run.”

Leaving the room unceremoniously, Oliver practically ran for the stairs.

It wasn’t until he had made it back to his room that he realized he had forgotten his coffee.

Oliver cursed to himself as he rolled back into bed, under the warm covers, and he cursed the universe and he cursed Slade Wilson.

The man had been in Oliver’s life for all of five minutes and he was already at odds with him.

_Anyone who got in the way of coffee was the enemy._

Between the warmth of his bed and the calming silence of his room, Oliver felt himself begin to doze.

A faint knock on his door interrupted his slumber. He gave a quick shout to come in and his mother entered his room.

“Oliver, _really_ ,” she sighed, expression wary, “It’s the afternoon, why are you still in bed?”

“Because it’s nice,” Oliver mumbled.

“Did you forget about the party?” Moira asked.

“No,” Oliver replied, rolling over to face his mother, “And to be fair I did leave my bed, I just decided to return to it.”

Moira Queen let out an exasperated laugh at her son’s antics. Oliver grinned and chuckled in response.

“Sweetheart, please tell me you’ll be coming to the party tonight?”

A small smile was all the only expression left on her face and Oliver could see that it didn’t reach her eyes. He felt a pang in his chest.

“Of course, mom,” he answered softly.

Her smile grew and she looked at Oliver for a moment longer before turning to leave.

 

* * *

 

Slade Wilson stood against the wall of the large foyer. It was evening and the room was decorated to the nines with evergreen and flowers, lights and candles. Guests filtered in, greeted by the attendants at the door - women in flowing and glittering gowns, men in sleek and fitted tuxedos. A jolly, upbeat Christmas tune was filtering in from the ballroom, played by a quartet of which he suspected were very highly renowned musicians.

He had never felt more out of place in his life.

Ever since he had met his new client, Oliver, he had spent most of the day milling about the house watching as it was transformed into a Christmas Wonderland. Oliver had remained in his room from the afternoon into the evening leaving Slade with not much to do at all.

“Mr. Wilson!”

Slade turned to the younger Queen child – Thea – as she approached him. She wore a sparkling gold dress, skirt cascading to the floor, and a large smile on her face.

“Evening, Ms. Queen,” he greeted her in return.

She laughed lightly, “ _Please_ , just call me Thea.”

“Alright then, Thea,” he replied.

“My overly dramatic brother will be down soon F.Y.I,” she rolled her eyes and turned to take in the room, continuing dryly “Oh, perfect, it looks like Christmas threw up in here.”

Slade chuckled, “It does seem a bit much.”

He turned to look at the room again as well, noting the gargantuan red bows and garland wrapped around the banisters of the winding, duel staircase. At the top, a figure appeared before descending the staircase. As Oliver approached them, Slade took note of the younger man’s black tuxedo and neatly combed hair. He looked far more put together than he had during their brief introduction.

“Thea, you look beautiful,” Oliver said to his sister, smiling and placing a quick kiss of her cheek.

“And you look like a real adult!” Thea said, grinning at her own wit.

Oliver shot Slade a withering look, practically daring the man to laugh. Slade remained silent.

“Shall we?” Oliver asked Thea, offering her his elbow.

“We shall!”

The younger girl took her brother’s arm as he led her into the ballroom. Slade let out a breath.

He would need to stay until Oliver retired for the evening; in his agreement with Moira and Robert Queen they had stressed that Oliver should be watched to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble, and any trouble that he might find could cost Slade his job.

Slade made his way into the ballroom and found a place to the side, away from any party-goers or tables, where he could observe the party (and Oliver) without drawing any attention to himself.

So far Oliver had lived up to Slade’s initial assessment, that he was just another spoiled rich kid who had never had to work a day in his life, living off of his parent’s money and being able to buy his way out of any trouble he might come across. Slade didn’t have very much respect for people like that, but at the end of the day this was a job. And all he had to do was keep the kid in line one way or another until he could find a better one.

He shifted his gaze to the dance floor and watched as Oliver twirled his sister, a genuine and warm smile spread across his face. Slade could see how much the younger man loved his sister and he felt a slight twinge in his own chest.

He missed his son.

The music shifted, a woman stepping up to the microphone to sing, and Oliver and Thea moved off the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.  As the woman sang a familiar tune, Slade felt the wave of sadness consume him. He would allow it for the moment.

Across the room, Oliver tuned out the man who was talking to him and Thea, listening to the words of the song as they floated through the room, the women’s voice soft and melancholic:

 _“Someday soon we all will be together,_  
_If the fates allow._  
_Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow,_  
_So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been wanting to write this for ages!!! (and I added a few Christmas shenanigans in just in time for the holidays). No matter what you celebrate I hope you all have a Happy Holidays!!
> 
> I've always wanted to explore Oliver and Slade's relationship in a 'non-powered' setting but there will still be a ton of angst because Oliver is a drama queen tbh. Do expect a happy ending! (eventually) and lots of cameos from all your faves! I'm not sure how many chapters this will be yet but I do want this to be a somewhat lengthy fic.
> 
> The fic title comes from The Lumineers song "Where the Skies Are Blue", their music is a big inspiration for me when it comes to Oliver/Slade and that song kick-started this whole story for me. Every chapter title will be a song from the unofficial 'playlist' that inspired this fic so please feel free to geek out with me if you're a fan of the song(s) as well! This chapter title comes from the song 'He Is the Same' by Jon Bellion. Also the particular version of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' I had in mind for the end was Judy Garland's version...it's so pretty/sad/bittersweet/etc.
> 
> I'll be finishing up my other fic (Inferno) in the coming weeks and then focusing solely on this. 
> 
> I love reading all of your comments so please let me know your thoughts if you're up for it!


End file.
